A tale of three Germanys Or perhaps four
by A.A. Pessimal
Summary: European history with a SatW twist.


_**War over the Garden Fence...**_

_A short history lesson in the "Scandinavia and the World" fandom._

_July, 1870:_

"Right, that is IT!" yelled Prussia, red in the face with fury. France had, in his opinion, been taking the piss for far too long. That business over the smaller seperate Italian states had been the last straw: France had, just like a woman in his opinion, changed her mind just once too often about whose friend they should be. And now France was flirting with Brother Belgium and Brother Luxembourg with a view to what she euphemistically called "a greater Francophonian unity". Yeah, right. If that came about, France would get a far larger back garden at Prussia's expense. It had to be stopped.

Prussia felt slighted. From his vantage point across the river, Brother England saw the commotion and, typical of the English, pretended he hadn't noticed and went back indoors. Prussia was _angry_. Austria had just annoyed him, and had consequently retired indoors nursing a bloody nose. Now it was France's turn.

France squealed with alarm as Prussia leapt over the thin garden fence that seperated their houses. She ran indoors, leaving her brother to ineffectually fend off an enraged neighbour. The actual fight did not last long. Prussia grabbed his baguette and belaboured him over the head with it, breaking it in two. Leaving a stunned Brother France measuring his length in the garden, Prussia hammered on the front door, which France had barred and locked behind her. Prussia's siege of her house lasted far longer than his defeat of her brother. But eventually she surrendered, and conceded that the French had no legitimate interest in Belgium, Luxembourg or Venetia and she would not try to befriend them. Satisfied, Prussia returned home.

_**August, 1914. **_

In the interim since 1870, France had made her brother build a far higher and thicker garden wall. Prussia looked at it critically. It was too high to climb over, and besides there were spikes in the top. Something had to be done: it was blocking his view of the sea, for one thing. He applied some out-of-the-box thinking.

_Eureka. _

When France slighted him again, he ran into Brother Belgium's garden, which backed onto France. Belgium was busy tending his sprouts and cabbages.

"HEY... _ooof_!" said Belgium, his protest dwindling to an involuntary expulsion of air. Prussia ran over a prone Belgium who was now living in a world of pain, heedless of the sprouts he was trampling. But now he was in France's garden, over the virtually non-existent border between the Belgiums and the Frances.

Brother France came out to meet him, forewarned and better-equipped this time. As the two grappled and traded punches, Prussia felt a hard wallop on his right side. Brother England, urged on by his sister, had crossed his castle moat to the Frances, and had joined in the fight. The three grappled ineffectually, sometimes gaining a few feet and sometimes losing a few feet, getting more tired all the time. Stalemate. Then just as Prussia gained a last desperate surge of strength, there was a new complication. The wide- shouldered figure of Brother America added his strength to the fray, shouting football plays. _Himmel! Where did he come from? _Prussia was forced back to his own garden fence. Defeated. But there would come a day, he threatened, shaking his fist.

_**January, 1933.**_

Prussia felt tired and old. He was poor and hungry. His helmet was tarnished and his uniform was threadbare. It was coming to the end, he knew it... there was a tap on his shoulder. A youth stood there, in brown and red, with slicked-back hair and a serpentine smile on his face.

"You are old and tired, ja? Well, I am taking over the burden for Greater Germany. You need not worry about yourself. I have booked you into a retirement home. The Hollands have agreed to take you in, in your declining years. Off you go, _alte_!"

And the handover of power was made.

_**May, 1940.**_

"_Why **me**?" _ Belgium shouted in outrage, as Nazi Germany powered through his back garden en route to France.

Nazi Germany swatted him aside.

"Not just you, _freunde_!" he called. "Holland too!"

"Not _again_..." groaned Belgium. In the distance, he heard Brother Denmark ineffectually calling "Look, come in and we'll sort it out over a beer!" and the even more distant sound of Brother Norway saying "No, that'll only encourage him... Finland, will you put Brother Russia _down_, you don't know where he's _been_...!"

This time, Nazi Germany's rushing onslaught took him to the other side of the Frances' garden, right to their front gate. While a roundhouse punch sent Brother England reeling back to his side of the castle moat, the portcullis came down quickly and the drawbridge went up. Nazi Germany's attempts to take the fight to England were met with lots of things being flung onto his head from the battlements. To his irritation, the Englands also had catapults that could bombard Germany's house from a distance...

_**May 1949.**_

Nazi Germany was still unconscious, perhaps dead. Something new was rising from the ruins of Germany's house. He took the form of a naive-looking youth with sandy brown hair, perhaps eighteen or nineteen. He wore a shirt in red, yellow and black. He looked around him. Brother England, Sister France and Brother America, looking larger and more imposing than ever, were waiting for him. Despite having seemingly only just appeared out of thin air, the new Brother Germany could recognise them. He had _memories_. They went back.

"Oh, my _God_!" he moaned, as if in the throes of a hangover. "did I really do _that_? And _that_? And those... _other things_?"

Brother America patted him consolingly on the shoulder. It nearly knocked him over. Sister France smiled sympathetically at him.

"It's all yours, old chap." Brother England said, handing him the keys. "We've made a few rooms liveable. You'll have to do the rest. Oh, by the way, you've only got about two-thirds of the house. Brother Russia's looking after the rest. And France and Poland have claimed a lot of the garden in recompense. There's not a lot we can do about it, I'm afraid!"

Sister France gave him a seductive smile.

"Fighting each other has not worked, _mon ami._" she said. "We need a new arrangement. When you are settled in, come and speak to me about a common market, where our _affaires_ converge. Converge with me!"

And the three former enemies shook hands with him and left him to it.

The New Germany sighed. He had a lot of work to do. And he wasn't sure Nazi Germany was dead. He half-suspected the old Germany would persist as a ghost, a sort of noisy poltergeist. He shuddered.

"You! Come over here, now! Schnell!" The voice had harmonics. It was female. He found Sister Germany, a brawny no-nonsense type, effortlessly stacking bricks from the old house. She had been busy: salvaged building materials had been sorted into orderly types, bricks here, planks there, roof tiles over here.

"We have a house to rebuild. Komm!"

He got to work. There was no option.


End file.
